


Sweet Dreams, Darling

by Akindheartedfeline



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But mostly angst, Fear, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Sleepy Cuddles, in the end its cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akindheartedfeline/pseuds/Akindheartedfeline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“You had it again.” It wasn’t a question; they both knew about the nightmares, both still got them. John had more trouble with them though, always took longer to be calmed down and brought back to reality. He tightened his grip on the darker haired man and nodded slightly into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t always the same dream didn’t always happen exactly the same way, but they always circulated around the same main fear: losing Sherlock.'</p>
<p>Or the one where John has nightmares and Sherlock comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ so I cranked this out in like three days for the Let's Write For Sherlock challenge 6. I did all the editing myself so all mistakes are my own. The only reason this is rated T is because it has swear words so if that bothers you than I advise you not to read this but it isn't too bad.
> 
> This is post Reichenbach Fall with some good old fashioned fluff at the end because I couldn't help myself and I hope you like it.xx

Sherlock’s voice has always been a sort of calming mechanism for John. There’s just something about it that always made his shoulders relax, his insides growing warm and content. The sound of his voice left John feeling engulfed in a tight hug, protecting him from all hurt. Even in it’s high stakes warnings in the midst of risky cases soaked in adrenaline, there was always s sort of assurance and confidence to it that made John less afraid, like Sherlock must have some idea what he’s doing.

But the way Sherlock sounded over the phone, it sent ice through John’s veins because he didn’t want to believe he just heard the other man's voice crack.

“Turn around and walk back the way you came.”

John didn’t stop, although he couldn’t shake the worry pestering in the back of his mind. 

“No, I’m coming in.” he insisted easily, but he still couldn’t shake the thing in him that felt so tightly wound it was about to snap.

“Just. Do as I ask. Please.” And there it was again: the crack of hesitance in the dark haired man’s usually sound and leveled voice. The thing in John’s stomach wound tighter. What was he feeling so uneasy for? He got the odd feeling he already knew, had simply forgotten.

This time, he listened, slowing to an uneasy shuffle in the middle of the street. Why was he stopping here? Where was Sherlock? His head was cloudy and he felt like something was wrong, but he just couldn’t place it. _And the game begins._ The phrase rang through his mind, but he didn’t know what it meant.

“Where?” John asked.

“Stop there.” And John did.

“Sherlock,” John looked around, the thing in him tightening a bit more. Dread… was that what that was?

Sherlock took a deep breath and John’s state of worry only grew worse. “Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.”

At first, John didn’t really get it. He looked up and saw him standing on the rooftop in his signature coat and scarf, both articles slightly swaying around Sherlock’s long form in the wind, and he was just really confused. His words were odd and there was just something he was missing and he kept thinking he wanted to move towards him but as soon as Sherlock told him to stay where he was he couldn’t fucking move and it was just remarkably frustrating because _why couldn’t he move?_

But then Sherlock kept talking and he said something like, “This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note.” And something clicked and John thought he might just throw up because no, no, no, no this isn’t happening, this cannot be happening, what was he missing? 

It just all wasn’t making sense, it all felt so wrong, and mean while Sherlock was insisting he was a fraud and a fake all along, John found his mind in too many places at once. It just didn’t make sense; Sherlock’s words didn’t make sense, the fact that he couldn’t move didn’t make sense, nothing was making any fucking sense anymore and everything and nothing was jumbled up in John’s head. The only though coming out clear as day being “you’re missing something.”

But everything cleared away when Sherlock’s voice came through the line in a shaky, “Just- just know I love you. Alright? Please, just know that.” There was finality to his words and John was definitely feeling nauseous.

“Sherlock, God, please just, no, just, don’t talk like that,” John began.

“John, there isn’t any time for this, just promises me.” Sherlock insisted. John ran a frustrated hand through his hair, glancing around trying to get his thoughts together.

“O-Okay, yea, I promise, I love you too, but Sherlock, what is going on?” But Sherlock wasn’t listening anymore. The line went dead and John watched helplessly as he tossed his phone off somewhere else on the roof. John deserted his own mobile, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out.

“Sherlock please!” The dread was heavy in his gut along with frustration, but he didn’t have time to be pissed at Sherlock, he had to stop him. _Oh but he is already gone_ , a voice pestered. No, no it wasn’t true; he refused to give up hope. He didn’t know what else to do, he just felt so fucking helpless and he couldn’t move, why couldn’t he move?

John was frozen and at a loss and time seemed to pause when he watched Sherlock step up onto the ledge and then all too suddenly and too quickly and too easily lean forward, leaving his balance in gravity’s cruel hands. The world was silent other than a high pitched… what was that? A whistle? A high pitched whistle, serenading his decent, the tone lowering the farther Sherlock fell, harsh and loud in John’s ear, as if it was the note of a tune being hummed right beside him.

John’s scream fell mute on his own ears.

He was spared from watching the impact; he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach that. But he still heard it, the horrid slam mixing in with the sound of the biker coming out of nowhere and slamming John straight to the pavement.

In a daze he went to sit up only to find himself once again frozen as he took in the face before him. 

Moriarty smiled down on him and it was bleak and cold and didn’t reach his eyes the way a smile should. It left him looking demented and twisted.

John couldn’t get up. _Why couldn’t he just get up?_

“Game over, Darling," Moriarty said it almost adoringly, like a pet name he had been using for years. Part of John connected to it though, had an odd familiarity with it. "Was a good one too, I owe you one.” And then suddenly there was a gun in one of his hands and he was reaching inside his expensive coat and pulling out another. He leaned his face over Johns, leaving a peck on his check that sent a shiver of terror down John's spine before slipping the gun into his own mouth. He did the same to John with the other, leaving the fair-haired man in an inward panic.

He tried to pull away, to get up off the ground but he couldn’t move. _Why couldn’t he move, dammit?_ The sounds of sirens were not far away and somewhere past Moriarty a crowd had formed at the base of the building nearest them.

And then with a sinister wink, Moriarty adjusted his hands on the two guns, fingers weighing on the triggers and sent them both into darkness-

*** 

John bolted upward,eyes flying open and hands going straight to his face. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing like he just ran a marathon. There was someone beside him, a hand on his shoulder, a voice asking if he was okay, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He blinked rapidly trying to fully wake himself up, and took in his surroundings.

He was in his bed, the sheets and duvet having been kicked off messily. The room was dim, the only light being the alarm clock reading 4:27 in bright red letters. Turning sideways, John was met with a very concerned, and disheveled, looking Sherlock.

“John, are you alright? Say something, you’re frightening me.” John searched his face for a moment, taking in his bright emerald eyes and pale skin. He took no shame in practically lunging himself at the other man, arms thrown tightly around his neck. Sherlock immediately returned his embrace, wrapping his won arms around his middle and pulling him close. He pet at John’s hair and whispered reassuring nothings in his ear and John just let himself revel in the safety of his voice and his hug.

“You had it again.” It wasn’t a question; they both knew about the nightmares, both still got them. John had more trouble with them though, always took longer to be calmed down and brought back to reality. He tightened his grip on the darker haired man and nodded slightly into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t always the same dream didn’t always happen exactly the same way, but they always circulated around the same main fear: losing Sherlock.

Eventually, Sherlock managed to get John lying back down on his side so he could hold him from behind, a protective arm around his waist and his chest pressed firmly to the other man’s back. Sherlock pressed kisses to John’s hair, to his cheeks, his neck and shoulders, anywhere he could reach, and John tried to simply focus on his lover’s ministrations, not let his mind wander back too much to the dream. 

After a moment, he broke the silence.

“Why can’t they just stop already?” John sounded more annoyed than anything and Sherlock chuckled lightly before answering soberly, “Because you’re still afraid.” John turned in the circle of his arms to face him, frowning slightly. 

“Can you blame me?” John asked, eyes averted to the milky skin of Sherlock’s shoulders so he wouldn’t have to look him in the eye, choosing to study the way the shadows had formed around his neck and collarbones in the dim moonlight. 

“Sometimes I think you worry too much.” Sherlock’s slender fingers were gentle against John’s skin as he swept back a few lost strands of hair from his forehead, a fond smile playing at his features. To this, John reached out, cupping Sherlock’s cheeks in his palms. He ran his thumb along the man’s jaw, over his check bones and brows, and over his lips, taking the opportunity to just feel him, know he was there. There were nights, nights much worse than that one, where that was the only thing that could calm John down. Now though, he just wanted to savor the peace that was observing Sherlock’s handsome and angular features.

“You give me a lot to worry about.” John’s response probably came too late, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock sighed, knowing they’ve had too many conversations over the occupationally hazards that came with their jobs.

“I wish you weren’t,” John said, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. It was unhurried, just a tender fluid movement of lips against lips, reassuring them both a bit more before John continued, “I just can’t help it though, I just can’t forget…” John didn’t have to finish for Sherlock to know what he was talking about. Hell, Sherlock couldn’t forget about it either, no one really could.

“I just don’t think I can make it through thinking I’ve lost you, not for real, not again. I love you too much.” John mumbled drowsily and Sherlock knew he was soon to drift back to sleep as well. 

“I hope you don’t have too. I wouldn’t put you through that again, not by choice, I love you back too much.” 

He pressed last kisses to John's neck, then his cheek, then finally his lips, lingering for just a second until he knew John was too far gone to really kiss back. He felt the other man go limp in his arms and fully lean into him. Sherlock silently hoped he would be taken by sweeter dreams this time, but he knew if the nightmares came again, it would be okay. He’d be there to soothe John through it. He always was; he always would be.

“Sweet dreams, Darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this fits perfectly with the challenge prompt but I like it and I hope you did too! Please feel free to leave me comments about the story and thank you for reading! Love you all tons:)xx


End file.
